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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010143">The Odds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell'>rachhell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>American Football, College, Depression, Flirting, Fluff, Future Fic, Go Pack Go, Gratuitous References To The Midwest, It’s totally fate, M/M, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Wisconsin - Freeform, hand holding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:06:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s gotta be fate that, somehow, the guy Craig’s been crushing on for what seems like forever ended up attending the same middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin college as him, right?</p><p>Originally written for the Crenny Nation zine</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Crenny Nation Zine!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Odds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this last year for the Crenny Nation charity zine, and figured I would (with mod permission of course) finally share it on my AO3!</p><p>The inspiration for this came about fully because I was having trouble thinking of a story idea, and was like, haha, it’s not like I can write what I know, because that’d just be a story about living in a small midwestern—wait, hold on, perhaps  I <i>can</i> write that, hmmmm...</p><p>And, so, I did! And had a great time doing it!</p><p>Thanks to the lovely mods of the zine for allowing me to participate in such a fun project.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How someone who seemed so social and well-liked ended up in what was well regarded as the quietest, most somber residence hall on the entire campus was beyond him. The boy across the hall was meant for an off-campus house full of people who would hand him a beer the minute he got home, who threw raucous parties that lasted well into the early morning hours and ended up in the weekly police blotter. He certainly didn’t belong in one of many single dorms in a building with hallways that sported that institutional, painted-over white brickwork, flickering fluorescent lights that should have been replaced months ago, and a billboard that their negligent RA (who was as much a shut-in as the rest of the overworked, burnt-out STEM majors who comprised the bulk of the residents of Marquette Hall) hadn’t updated since last semester. </p><p>Craig knew this not only because of the guy’s comings-and-goings at all hours, or because of the peals of laughter that bounced around that sad, quiet hallway and made Craig’s neighbor—some guy who shared his 10 a. m. o-chem class whose name was either Vincent, or Victor, or something to that effect—pretty damn pissed off from all the noise at the oh-so-ridiculous hour of six in the evening.</p><p>He knew this because he remembered Kenny. But he was one hundred percent, without a doubt positive, that Kenny didn’t recall a single, solitary thing about <em> him. </em></p><p>Really, the odds of both of them ending up at Gundersen College were astronomical. The university boasted itself as a small, private liberal arts college situated in the heart of the scenic Wisconsin countryside. Craig didn’t choose the school as much as it chose him, drawing him in with a hefty academic scholarship for what turned out to be a fantastic chemistry program, and the allure of a great, vast distance between himself and the hometown that would forever regard him as <em> that gay kid from that yaoi art </em> . Moving there was a welcome change, but it wasn’t perfect. Everyone talked all funny, and called water fountains <em> bubblers, </em> and rooted for the dumbest football team in the known universe. And it wasn’t until the first winter hit that Craig realized that “scenic Wisconsin countryside” was actually code for “depressing, barren wasteland the likes of which you’ve never seen,” but it still beat the hell out of South Park. </p><p>Even if the lack of sunlight from October to March was a bit more than Craig could bear, and it was only his sophomore year. He was used to snow, <em> that </em> didn’t bother him in the least, but it was just so dark, so <em> bleak </em> all the time. Not to mention the cold. There were frequent cold snaps in his hometown, but they didn’t stick around like they did in this tiny college town. He was used to seeing the sun, at least <em> sometimes, </em>even in the winter. But it was early January, and Craig swore the only time he’d experienced true daylight since the fall of the first autumn leaf was when he’d returned home for Christmas.</p><p>It <em> sucked, </em>and it was getting to him. </p><p>Craig wasn’t dumb; he knew that seasonal affective disorder was a thing. And that depression as a whole was a thing. He knew this, but what was easier than to confront it was to throw himself into his studies, to lock himself in his single where it was neat and warm, where he could do his homework, and burrow under piles of blankets to pay scant attention to whatever popular Netflix thing he thought he was supposed to be watching while he dicked around on his laptop, and sleep the weekends away when doing either seemed like it’d just be too much.</p><p>He didn’t think Kenny, across the hall, would know the definition of <em> too much </em> if it bit him in the ass. He was always excited about something. Always experiencing things. Craig knew this because Craig could hear him. He knew this because sometimes he’d look through the peephole of his door and there Kenny would be, opening his own dorm (which, from what Craig could tell, was nearly as clean as, and much sparser than, his own) to a friend, or maybe a hookup, with a welcoming grin and a warm greeting. Sometimes he’d sit in silence and hear Kenny on his phone. While his voice was just as muffled through layers of concrete as it was when they were kids and Kenny wore that ridiculous parka all the time, Craig could occasionally discern what he said. Stuff like <em> of course, dude, I’ll be right there! </em> or <em> hell yeah, I’m so down! </em></p><p>It drove Craig nuts, really.</p><p>And it drove him absolutely <em> bonkers </em> that he should have figured out freshman year that Kenny McCormick attended the same school as him, but didn’t. Their school was large enough that not everyone knew everyone, but small enough that you <em> really </em> had to be a shut-in to not run into someone as seemingly well-known as Kenny….<br/>
<br/>
God, Craig couldn’t remember the last time he’d even been out, been invited to a party, let alone actually stepped foot inside of one.<br/>
<br/>
It also wasn’t that they were friends back in high school or anything; the boys in Craig’s elementary class fell in and out of various friend groups since they reached the larger Park County Middle-and-subsequently-High Schools, and Craig could say with confidence that he’d barely exchanged three sentences with the other boy since sixth grade.</p><p>But, that didn’t mean Craig hadn’t noticed Kenny back then. He vividly remembered that they’d shared a lunch period together, and although they sat at opposite ends of the cafeteria, Craig recalled many an instance where he couldn’t take his eyes off of Kenny. Everything about him was just so <em> bright, </em> from his mop of honey blond hair, to the orange hoodie he seemed to wear every day that made him stick out like a traffic cone, to his big blue eyes and crooked smile with the cute little gap in his teeth. It wasn’t just the gap in his teeth that was cute, it was… <em> everything, </em> really. Kenny was hot. Kenny <em> knew </em> he was hot, too, even back then; nobody who carried themselves with as much self-assured confidence as him couldn’t <em> know </em>.</p><p>He’d always been terribly, terribly attractive. The little glimpses Craig caught between the crack in his door proved that Kenny had only gotten more attractive with age. Although he was still on the shorter side, access to the cafeteria and gym ensured that his formerly scrawny physique began turning to lean muscle. His face had also filled out, his jawline becoming more angular and occasionally dusted with stubble. He was gorgeous, and there was no way he remembered Craig, even <em> regarded </em> Craig. They’d yet to say a word to each other, but it wasn’t as if Craig hadn’t thought about it. It’d be so easy to just knock on his door and say hello, or even just add him on social media and send a quick message….</p><p>The thing was, Craig hadn’t talked to him <em> then </em> , so how the hell could he start <em> now? </em> Especially considering how everything was going. How <em> Craig </em> was. Why would someone like Kenny want to talk to someone like Craig? He’d just bring him down. He’d bring anybody down, wouldn’t he?<br/>
<br/>
Those were the type of thoughts Craig entertained the evening that the first note appeared on his door’s whiteboard.</p><p>
  <em> Every little thing is gonna be all right. </em>
</p><p>Underneath the scrawled message was a crude drawing of three birds, and a smiling sun.</p><p>Craig, having just returned from a particularly grueling group project session with people he didn’t even like, for a class in which he <em> needed </em> to pull at <em> least </em> a B-plus, noticed it right away. It was, after all, the first time someone had written on said whiteboard all year.<br/>
<br/>
And despite the fact that he groaned, and immediately erased it with the cuff of his snow-covered coat, it was the first time he felt his lips twitch into a smile in weeks.</p>
<hr/><p>Craig had his suspicions as the notes—</p><p>
  <em> Why don’t scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Things are gonna get easier. Things are gonna get brighter. </em>
</p><p><em> Go Broncos! </em> (Having been the only note Craig left on his board, this had been promptly vandalized with GO PACK GO while Craig was trapped in a lab)</p><p>—and doodles continued appearing on his door over the course of the week. He supposed it was a possibility Kenny was the person leaving them. He didn’t let himself dwell on it any longer than he had to, because the longer he thought about it, the more he felt like a complete <em> asshole </em> for not saying hello to the guy in the first place. Besides, suspicions were just that, <em> suspicions. </em> Kenny was far from the only person on campus who knew he was from Colorado. And maybe some girl who lived on their floor didn’t know he was gay, and thought he was cute. That would explain the hearts and the cutesy, poorly-drawn anime faces…</p><p>But why the hell would Kenny waste his time trying to cheer Craig up, anyway? What would be the point? In the event that Kenny actually talked to him, he’d inevitably find out that Craig’s presence would do nothing but depress him.</p><p>That is, <em> if </em> the note-leaver even was Kenny in the first place.</p><p>He tried to push it out of his mind, even as the notes continued, as he attended classes, buried his head in his studies, completed his torturous group project, and spent the remainder of his time wrapped in a blanket, his laptop resting on his chest providing much-needed heat from the blisteringly cold wind which seeped through the cracks of his flimsy window. But it still nagged at him.<br/>
<br/>
It was a Saturday afternoon that his hunch was confirmed.</p><p>He’d slept in until eleven, deciding to lay in bed and scroll through his Instagram feed for about another hour, until his hunger pangs and stomach growls won out. Going to the cafeteria was out of the question; like hell was Craig going to brave the minus-whatever-the-fuck temperatures and freezing winds that made him feel like he was being repeatedly slapped in the face. He decided the best course of action would be heading down to the shared hallway kitchen, one that nobody really seemed to use except to set off the fire alarm while Craig was taking a shower, to heat up some mac and cheese.<br/>
<br/>
A typical weekend, really, save for the fact that with football season nearing its conclusion, and the Packers predicted to make it to the Super Bowl, the dorm seemed a bit happier, a bit rowdier than normal. Craig had been able to make out more conversations, more excited shouting than usual, and it wasn’t just from Kenny’s room. Even Vincent-or-Victor next door had gotten in on the celebrations, and he was a bigger stick-in-the-mud than even Craig.</p><p>That was why hearing a rustling outside his door as he pulled on an old Park County High Mathletes sweatshirt and a pair of checkered pajama pants to make his trek down the hallway didn’t strike him as unusual. When he flung open his door only to meet with a dry erase marker pointing directly at his face, he about had a heart attack.</p><p>And when he noticed the familiar orange hoodie on the arm attached to it, then the big, blue eyes with overgrown golden fringe falling into them, the freckles, the sheepish, surprised grin, Craig swore he could’ve just <em> died. </em></p><p>“What’s up.” Kenny said it so cooly, so calmly, as he capped the marker, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin widened.</p><p>Heart thrumming in his chest and mouth going dry, Craig cleared his throat. It felt as if it took forever for words to form, and when they did, he creaked out, “What the hell are you writing this time?”</p><p><em> Way to go, self, </em> Craig thought. <em> The first time you’ve spoken to the guy in forever, and you sound like a defensive asshole. </em></p><p>Kenny’s clear laugh made Craig’s throat feel all weird. “Well, what with all the football festivities and shit, I figured I’d make it clear where we stand. Yanno, odds are looking like they might play Denver.” He shot Craig a wink.<br/>
<br/>
“‘Fuck the Packers?’” Craig read the bold block lettering aloud, snorting incredulously. “Do you want to get me killed?”</p><p>Kenny shrugged, leaning against the white brick wall alongside them after Craig shut his door. “Not really, but I <em> was </em> hoping it would finally get you talk to me.”</p><p>Craig hoped that Kenny hadn’t noticed the sharp, surprised breath he’d taken, instead turning to scrub the marker off with his sleeve. “You remembered who I was?”<br/>
<br/>
Kenny eyed him like he’d grown an extra head. “Fucking <em> duh </em> . I knew you were coming here back in high school. That’s not <em> why </em> I went here, obviously, I got a scholarship. Full ride, dude. But fuckin’ burn that you haven’t said hello, like what the hell?” Craig’s shoulders stiffened, and he shot a sideline glance at the other boy, who’d shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and worried his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze drifted toward the linoleum floor. “If we’re being honest here, you don’t seem, y’know, yourself. I thought you could use someone to talk to.”</p><p>“What’s your major?” Craig blurted out, dumbly. Whether he consciously chose to ignore the second half of Kenny’s little speech was up for debate, thank you <em> very </em> much.</p><p>“Communications.” Kenny said, far more confidently than somebody getting what Craig thought was a bullshit degree should’ve. That was <em> probably </em> something he should keep to himself. </p><p>“Chemistry.”</p><p>“Cool.” Kenny smiled, then paused. “But seriously. Are you all right?”</p><p>“I…” Craig exhaled, shakily. “Yeah.”</p><p><em> No, no I’m fucking not, I’m lonely and I’m miserable and your stupid little drawings are the only thing that have made me happy this entire semester! Say it, you idiot, </em> Craig’s brain screamed at him as Kenny quirked a brow in his direction.<br/>
<br/>
“Alright,” Kenny said slowly, with a sardonic chuckle, making it rather obvious that he didn’t believe him. “Pretty cool that we ended up as neighbors, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Craig’s voice was small, faint. “It is.” At least <em> that </em> wasn’t exactly a lie.</p><p>“Almost like fate, or somethin’,” mused Kenny, running a hand through his hair, making it look tousled. <em> God </em> he was cute.<br/>
<br/>
Craig’s face felt like it was on fire. “If you believe in that kind of thing.”<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe I do.”</p><p>There was a brief pause, during which their eyes locked, for but a moment. An <em> agonizing </em> moment, as Kenny’s eyes were bluer, and kinder than Craig had ever remembered, and tinged with a hint of worry and a little bit of… something that Craig was probably imagining because he was an idiot with a crush he’d never <em> really </em> gotten over, after all.</p><p>“Anyway,” Kenny continued, breaking their eye contact with a nervous-sounding chuckle, and rubbing the back of his neck, “A bunch of us are goin’ down to my friend’s place to watch the playoffs tomorrow. They’re making brats and there’s gonna be plenty of beer. You’re more than welcome to join.”</p><p>“I have homework,” Craig found himself saying before his brain could catch up with his mouth. <em> Shit. Shit shit </em>shit, he thought, mentally scrambling to save himself. “Bratwursts?”</p><p><em> Oh my god. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em>At least Kenny thought it was funny. He snorted out a laugh. “Yeah. Dude, I swear, Wisconsin is like… It’s kinda like Germany, but without the really bad past.”</p><p>Craig’s mouth scrunched up to fight off his giggles. “Dude. That’s terrible.” </p><p>“I know.”<br/>
<br/>
It was then that Craig let himself smile. It felt… really good, actually. “Well, uh. If you want to hang some other time, we could, uh…”</p><p>Kenny smiled at him, taking Craig’s tongue-tied moment in stride. “We could go grab dinner or study, I guess. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I don’t think we’ve really talked since, like—”</p><p>“Middle school,” Craig finished, overlapping Kenny’s similar utterance. “That’d be nice.”</p><p><em> “Sick,” </em> Kenny replied, happily, and with that, he reached out a hand to pat Craig’s shoulder.</p><p>It was all Craig could do to refrain from leaning into the contact, to relish in the fact that this was the first time he’d been touched in ages. He simultaneously felt rooted to the spot, and like he wanted to take off into a mad dash across the hallway just to get away from how <em> stupid </em> he felt.</p><p>“See you around, dude.” There was that <em> fucking </em> wink again, and as Kenny took off to the exit a few doors down, he stopped short when his hand reached the door handle. “By the way, Craig?” He tossed a look over his shoulder. Craig could’ve sworn he saw a bit of a blush underneath Kenny’s freckles. “You look great.”</p>
<hr/><p>More things happened in the subsequent couple weeks than Craig could have ever anticipated.</p><p>Craig never thought he was the kind of person who needed saving, especially not by some dude he was interested in. That <em> wasn’t </em> what this was, not by a long shot… But, at the same time, it turned out that allowing Kenny into his life made things just a little bit brighter.</p><p>The notes on Craig’s door hadn’t stopped, but they had changed. Although he’d given Kenny his number after the first time they’d hung out and they could text each other at any time, rather than write uplifting quotes or disparaging remarks about the Packers on Craig’s whiteboard, they’d started using it to make plans.</p><p>He and Kenny met up for dinner together whenever their schedules aligned, which turned out to be most nights a week. After that, they’d walk back to their residence hall together, both huddled in their coats. It reminded Craig of when they were kids, and they hung out amid the Colorado snow at Stark’s Pond. Kenny had laughed when Craig told him that, which had launched an entire conversation about what they’d been up to since they’d last hung out.</p><p>Conversations continued as they began to feel comfortable enough with each other to hang out in their rooms. Often they’d study; sometimes they’d watch a movie… but they’d always talk. Craig had learned a few surprising things about Kenny. He played bass in their school’s jazz band, and in a metal band with some music majors. He maintained a solid 3.5 GPA, even while holding down a work study job in maintenance.</p><p>And, most intriguingly to Craig, he was single. When Kenny told him that, that same subtle blush Craig noticed on the day they’d spoken in the hallway began to creep up under his freckles, and he’d nudged Craig’s foot with his own. Craig found himself with shaky hands and a dry mouth and a pounding heart all over again that night, especially when Kenny leaned his shoulder against Craig’s for the remainder of the film they were watching.</p><p>Kenny tended to have that effect on him, <em> all the time </em> . Like it or not, Craig was, like, <em> really </em> into the guy. Kenny would have to be fucking crazy to feel the same, though, wouldn’t he?</p><p>He hadn’t yet convinced Craig to hang out outside of their study sessions and movie nights, although it wasn’t for lack of trying. There always seemed to be a game on, and Craig was invited each time. Each time, he found an excuse. And each time, he felt like an idiot.</p><p>That was until, with the very end of the month, the news that the Broncos took the conference championship and would, indeed, be playing Green Bay in the Super Bowl brought Kenny bursting through Craig’s unlocked door, like a far sexier version of Kramer from Seinfeld.</p><p>“You gotta go watch the game with me, dude. I might literally die if you don’t.” Kenny was smiling like a maniac, his leg jiggling with frantic energy after he sat upon Craig’s desk chair.<br/>
<br/>
Craig, laying in bed studying, lowered his textbook, leaving it open, face-down, on his comforter. “Oh my god. You won’t literally die,” he laughed.<br/>
<br/>
“I might <em> literally die, </em> Craig.” Kenny made some sort of frenzied gesture with his arms. “Have you, like, looked around, at all?”</p><p>“They’re like animals.” Craig nodded, shooting an expression comical in its over-seriousness at his friend.</p><p>“God, they fucking <em> are, </em> dude. What the hell is wrong with this place?”</p><p>They shared a laugh. </p><p>“You know that I don’t really care about football that much,” Craig said unconvincingly. It was <em> sort of </em> true. Normally he didn’t, but this was the <em> Broncos </em> at the goddamn <em> Super Bowl </em> they were talking about. Sure, it happened a lot. But they were good for a reason. And Craig and Kenny <em> were </em> two Coloradans stranded in rural Wisconsin. The two of them may as well have had targets painted on their heads that said, <em> give me all the shit you can about this game! </em> Kenny did have a point. “I dunno, I mean. Maybe.” Nervously, Craig tapped his fingernails against his textbook.</p><p>It was like that action prompted Kenny to hop onto the bed next to him. It wasn’t like that was a new thing; they watched movies on there all the time, but there was something about the way he scooted close to Craig, about the way their legs touched and neither pulled away, that Craig thought was just a little… different. But not a <em> bad </em> different, or anything.</p><p>Kenny set his hand on Craig’s thigh, and Craig thought he was going to just, like, <em> ascend </em> when he gave it a quick squeeze. “Think about it, though. What are the odds of us both bein’ from Colorado, from the <em> same town, </em>and both bein’ here while that’s happening? I know you think fate is bullshit, but...”  Kenny didn’t move his hand. Instead, he took a measured breath, then, in a manner that somehow felt measured and careful, stroked Craig’s sweatpant-clad leg with his thumb. </p><p>Craig made no effort to scoot away. Instead, he reached out a shaking hand, and laid it on top of Kenny’s own.</p><p>It felt inevitable.</p><p>“Just, will you go with me?” Kenny asked, softly.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re saying that like it’s a date or something.” Craig said it plainly, with no incredulity or bewilderment. “I wouldn’t mind that, you know.”<br/>
<br/>
Kenny’s smile was radiant. “Go with me.” He slipped his hand from under Craig’s grip, only for his fingertips to brush against Craig’s knuckles. “It’s going to be good for you to get out. You need it.”</p><p>“Your notes were the first thing that made me happy in a long fucking time,” Craig finally admitted. It came out unexpectedly, yet easily.</p><p>Kenny just laughed, and laced their fingers together. “So, you wanna be my hot Super Bowl party date? I mean, if you don’t, we can at least protect each other from rabid Green Bay fans. I <em> hope </em> you want it to actually be a date, though, because—”</p><p>Craig silenced Kenny’s rambling with a squeeze of his hand. “Yeah. It’s a date.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m not super active in this fandom anymore, but if you like my fics you can still feel free to follow me on twitter @mx_raye or tumblr @rachhellraye</p></blockquote></div></div>
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